Raggy
by scousemuz1k
Summary: A murdered Marine who was on a revenge mission takes the team to a refuge for battered wives. Team fic, Tony centric. Rated T to be safe for language later.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I might write the story of riding on top of a truck one day…**

**Seren – Welsh name meaning star.**

Raggy

by scousemuz1k

The detective with the camera stopped snapping, as he noticed four figures approaching the crime scene tape. "NCIS, Lieutenant! What the hell are they doing here?"

"I called them." Lieutenant Kath Wigg straightened up, with a scowl. If Detective Fordham had been paying attention, he'd have heard, since Kath wasn't the sort to keep her voice down.

She was a tall woman in her late forties, running to overweight, face lined by years of too little sleep, with a slight stoop if she didn't constantly remember to push herself upright, thanks to a large calibre bullet close to her lumbar spine eight years ago. She seldom bothered with make-up or her appearance, having worn out almost as many husbands as the man approaching had had wives; she was careless of how she dressed, but wore her gun with style. Her face was battered and lived in, but men were still drawn to her. If she had to repeat herself her team scuttled for cover; but if they were working under pressure she was always the one to defuse it. She was a force to be reckoned with.

"Gibbs. Glad you could make it." She stuck out a rubber gloved hand, and Gibbs took it without hesitation.

"Kath… long time. You met my team?"

The Lieutenant stuck out her hand again. "I remember DiNozzo. You ridden on the roofs of any more semis lately?" She grasped his hand and pumped it, grinning, and McGee and Ziva were astonished to see a look of almost flirty appreciation pass between them.

"That was fun, Lieutenant… we should do it again."

"Special Agents Tim McGee and Ziva David," Gibbs said almost reprovingly, and waited just long enough for the introductions to be completed before asking, "What have you got?"

"Truth is, Jethro, I'm not sure." They walked over to the man who lay dead in the shadow of a bus parked up at the end of what had been a long line, although by now other vehicles were leaving for duty one by one. "Driver found him when he came on shift, 5 am. You can see he died violently – fighting for his life, I think we'll find. Street bum by his clothes, but his body's in much better shape than that." She lifted the corpse's hand, and showed Gibbs the line of hardened skin along the heel and outer edge. "Used to hand to hand combat."

"But not so thick as if he were still on active service," Gibbs agreed. "You think he was a marine."

"Just a gut feeling, Jethro."

"Maybe more," Tony said, crouching by the man's feet. He'd already donned gloves himself, and lifted the hem of the man's right pants leg. A strap ran round his ankle, above the top of his rigger boot, and the sheath attached to it was tucked down inside the leather. It was empty, but it was exactly right for a marine K-bar.

Kath Wigg nodded her approval, then shrugged apologetically. "Not much more than that – but long hair apart… doesn't he _look_ like a marine to you?"

"Yeah, Kath… yeah, he does. Anything else?"

"Only that I've already alibi'd the driver who found him. We took some photos, but once I got the idea, I called a halt. He's all yours if you want him. Just keep me posted, huh? And we'll take over again if I'm wrong here."

"We'll take him," Gibbs told her. She shivered in the early morning air, and rubbed her back as she stood. With a polite nod to Tim and Ziva, and a positively lascivious grin at Tony, which he returned, she wandered away and called her team. By the time the Metro cars had driven away, Tim had called Ducky, and the MCRT had begun their work.

The dead man was probably in his late thirties, with fairish hair that had grown long in no particular style. It, and the rest of him, was a little too clean for a homeless man. He was cold, as was the morning, and his thick plaid jacket had a sheen of condensation, as well as a slick of oil from the bus station asphalt. He had defensive wounds on his hands and arms, the woollen fabric being scored through and bloody in several places. His face was badly cut and bruised; the injuries looked fresh, and from underneath his back enough blood had already run to suggest what Ducky would find there.

Ziva stood back and took note of where the security cameras were, and then went to fetch the tapes, although she was pretty certain that nothing would be revealed. Either the victim or his assailant had chosen the spot for its privacy. She returned to find that Ducky had arrived, and wandered innocently to where Tony was sketching.

"So…" she murmured. "The Lieutenant… there is a history between you and her?"

Tony grunted, to suppress a laugh. "If you mean what I think you mean, Ziva, I wouldn't dare." He flicked what he hoped she'd think was an involuntary glance towards Gibbs… he really wasn't _sure_ about Gibbs and Kath, but he knew Ziva'd never dream of asking him. "She's a fun lady to ride two miles with on the top of a truck, though." He saw that his ruse had been successful; Ziva was not interested in the story of the wild ride more than six years ago, she was looking speculatively at Gibbs….

So was he. The Boss was quiet and somewhat abstracted, standing back and not peppering the ME with impatient questions, gazing round the scene with eyes that were seeing something else. He finished the last pencil stroke and went over. "What's bugging you?"

"Ack… if I knew that it wouldn't be bugging me, DiNozzo."

Tony was unruffled. "Memory? The situation? Déjà vu? You've already made up your mind that he _was_ a marine. But unless he was undercover, he's not any more. Maybe four months. Discharged or AWOL? All reasonable questions… but no more than we've asked before –"

"Tony, I've _said_," Gibbs told him quietly. "I'm not keeping anything back. I don't _know_. Why four months, anyway?"

"Hair growth rate – assuming, as of course I shouldn't, that he came out of the Corps and never got his hair cut. Which may mean that whatever he was up to, he wanted to look different, or couldn't afford to get his hair cut, or -"

"Wanted to stay low and not be noticed… Too many questions. Need the answers. We done here?" He made the last remark more loudly, and both Ziva and Tim shook their heads.

"It's a pretty sparse crime scene, Boss," McGee told him, "We'll be done soon, but I don't want to miss anything."

"Like this, perhaps," Ducky said quietly, handing something small up to Gibbs. "He died some time before midnight, Jethro, from a stab wound which punctured the dorsal aorta from behind. It would have been almost instantaneous. He has no dogtags, or other identification that I can find on first inspection; apart from a few coins, that was all that was in his pocket."

Gibbs peered at the ten or so small rectangular cards, kept together by an elastic band. Tony took them, politely, and read, "Valley House, refuge for endangered women and children. New Hampshire Avenue. Number suggests Chillum area. And the fact that he's got a bundle of them…"

"Suggests that he's been giving them out. McGee, Ziva. When you've finished up, take the truck back. Get me an ID, asap. DiNozzo and I are going to check out this place."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The 'place' was unremarkable from the front; it seemed to have been a shop at one time. The window was of toughened, frosted glass with a wire grid incorporated into it and vertical blinds behind it, and the double door was designed so that when one half was open, only one person at a time could pass through. Inside, to one side of the room was a dark oak stained floor, with a cheerful rug in shades of peaceful green, a small electric coal effect stove, beat-up, comfortable armchairs and a sofa.

On the other side, opposite the door, was a counter, with shelves, files and a computer desk behind it, and a cork-board with cards, postcards, photos, and memo notes. There was also a bubbling coffee machine which didn't escape Gibbs' notice. Between the two halves of the room was a sturdy door with a combination lock. Above it, the two agents noted, was an equally sturdy camera.

A youngish woman stood up from behind the counter as they stood looking round, and surveyed them without much warmth. "NCIS," she said wearily. "Well, that's new."

Gibbs kept back, knowing instantly that this was a job for DiNozzo. The SFA took up the task straight away, toning his easy grin down to a gentle, puzzled smile. "Ma'am?"

"Doctor. Humphries. Seren Humphries. I help to run this centre." She offered no other information, waiting warily.

"So, Dr. Humphries…" Tony went for polite and respectful, even though the doctor had given her first name; more because he felt he _wanted_ to be polite than that he ought to. At first impressions, the place had a good feel to it. "Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agent DiNozzo. Tony. Why… 'that's new'?"

The doctor shook her curly dark hair, and returned his slight smile, with an explosive huff of breath. "Well… FBI… DEA…ICE… every other acronym's been through here," she growled as she came from behind the counter, "To say nothing of Maryland State Police, local PD… the reasoning goes –"

"I get it," Tony said gently. "Some of the women you're protecting are likely addicts. If they're addicts, you've got stuff on the premises. If you've got stuff, you're dealing. Or you know dealers…"

Cool grey eyes looked at him in surprise. "You were a cop," she said.

"I was. And I'm not interested in making life difficult for you or your refugees."

"Good. Even the local police believe now that we are who we are. So… never NCIS before. We've even had a visit from the CIA… but what do Navy cops want with us?"

And even as she spoke her face crumpled into realisation and grief. Tony had already spotted one photo among the many on the cork-board, and was sad and unsurprised.

"No!" she burst out, her head twisting in denial. "Damn it to hell, _no_!" She looked from the cop to his impassive partner and back, her shoulders slumping. "Something's happened to Raggy." She leaned back against the counter with tears on her cheeks.

Tony pointed to the photo he'd seen; the man standing with one arm round the doctor, and the other round an equally smiling woman with lighter brown hair, was certainly their victim. "Is that Raggy, doctor?"

"Seren," she said shortly. She went back round the counter and brought them the snapshot. "Yes… he's dead, then?" When nobody answered, she said fiercely, "Well?"

Gibbs nodded. "We're sorry, doctor – Seren… clearly he was a friend of yours. Who was he?"

"I don't know."

"You –" Gibbs could see it was a genuine answer, and restrained himself. His eyes slid longingly to the coffee pot, and he looked guilty when he knew she'd seen his glance. She smiled wanly, and pointed to the armchairs.

"Go sit down," she said, and handed him the coffee pot to take with him. She brought mugs, milk and sugar, and they sat by the stove.

When the mugs were full, Tony asked, "You don't know who he is, but something made you make a connection between him and us. What was it?"

Seren frowned. "Well, I'm certain he was a marine."

"What made you think that?" Gibbs rumbled. She watched him take a long swig of the strong black brew that had been gurgling on the machine a few moments ago.

"You're a marine, Special Agent Gibbs. Like Special Agent DiNozzo's a cop. It never wears off."

"_Tony_," the SFA insisted. "And the Boss is just Gibbs. And you're right. It really doesn't ever wear off."

Dr. Humphries nodded. "I asked him, in a roundabout way, once, by mentioning 'semper fi'. He just smiled. He said, 'You're fishing, li'l gal. What you don't know can't hurt you.' Did… did he die violently? Was he murdered?"

"Yes, and yes." Gibbs was as gentle as he could manage. "Seren, what can you tell us?"

"I'll start at the beginning. But… one thing… you must know… whatever you've learned, whatever you know, or whatever people may tell you, _I'm_ telling you he was a good person. Whatever he was involved in, he wasn't a bad man. That's the truth. He first came here four months ago…"

_It was gone midnight, and Seren was just going to go into the refuge to check all was well, before locking the front door and settling down to doze in a chair until Matt came at seven to take over, when the door in question opened a crack, and a man eased his way swiftly in then closed it quickly. _

"_Please… don't press the alarm…" His breathing was laboured, and his face was bruised and bloody. He had one arm wrapped round his ribs. "I'm not going to hurt anyone…"_

"_I didn't think you were. Come, sit down. There. But why did you come here? You know this is a refuge for women? There's no way you can go through that door…"_

"_I know. I just… need a bit of first aid… then I'll be on my way. It's… it's OK if you want me to just go…"_

"I'm a dermatologist… my clinic up in Glen Echo helps to support this place… but I did my stint in the Emergency Room like everyone else… He had cracked ribs, which I strapped up, I checked his lungs were OK, gave him an antibiotic shot, bathed and stitched up his cuts. I couldn't turf him out, his stomach was growling like a Kodiak Bear, so I fed him, gave him some painkillers, and let him sleep on the sofa. 'Call me Raggy', he said. When Matt came in, in the morning, I explained, and then went off to work."

Her mouth twisted sadly. "I missed all the fun. You can see our security. We get husbands and boyfriends coming here, drunk, high, or just plain mad, demanding to see their wives… they don't. But they can make a hell of a mess. Young Matt pressed the alarm, it sounds in the local Police HQ, but in the meantime this guy was in a fair way to damaging him, until Raggy took him out. Matt said he was so quick and smooth about it, that he didn't even see what he did. He stayed through Matt's shift, although when the LEOs arrived he just vanished, and came back when they'd gone. He stayed through Martina's duty, and he was still here when I came back for the evening. After that, he was always here… except when he wasn't…"

"When he wasn't?"

"He became one of only four men who are allowed on the other side of that door. He became our protector… sometimes he'd disappear for a day or two… or three… when he came back he usually had some bruises… but he was good to us, and we didn't pry. Well… I did. I asked him about his name, and he said his people were Danish, the blood of Vikings and all that, and his name _could_ be Ragnar, or maybe not… and I was sure he was a marine, but he wasn't saying. For all that he was such a help to us, I wouldn't have let him stay if I hadn't been sure in my heart that he was a good person; that he wasn't using us for anything other than shelter, while he helped us. It wasn't long before we all loved him…"

Gibbs phone shrilled. "Yeah, McGee. Yeah… my unit? Yeah… sure I do. He was what… nineteen? Twenty? But the guy I knew would never have gone AWOL… no, we're coming in, tell me when we get there." He looked at Tony. "You know something was bugging me? They matched his fingerprints - I knew the guy. He was just a kid when he was in my unit. Nils Ragnar Frandsen. Age twenty-two then. Came back from Afghanistan four months ago and went UA. McGee's digging further. We need –"

The front door crashed open, and two men jammed themselves in the gap trying to both get in at once. "My wife's supposed to be here," one yelled without preamble. Where the hell is she? I want to talk to her!"

Seren flashed the two agents a 'see what I mean' sort of look. "If you'll tell me her name, I'll find out if she's here, and ask if she wants to talk to you, Mr…?"

"Never mind that," the other man shouted just as loudly. "My friend says he wants to talk to his wife. You fetch her out, girlie. You get the silly b- " He broke off to see who was tapping him on the shoulder.

"Friend," Tony said, "That's no way to talk to a lady about a lady…"

The two men had clearly spent some time in the nearest bar, fuelling themselves up with liquid courage in order to face unarmed women, so they were messy fighters, crashing into walls and furniture before the two agents got them down. But by the time the LEOs arrived, they were both on their faces and cuffed, while Seren straightened out the furniture. Relieved of their charges, Gibbs and Tony began to climb to their feet. The SFA put his left hand up to the counter to pull himself up, and let go with an anguished yelp. Gibbs raised an enquiring eyebrow, then registered that his partner had actually gone a bit pale.

Tony prodded his wrist gingerly, and hissed. Seren took it gently and touched a slightly puffy area with far more finesse than its owner had done. "Yes," she said ruefully. "Broken."

**AN: I've been gone for a while… please remember I love reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

Raggy

Chapter 2

Tony was bouncing with impatience as he paid off the taxi. He'd persuaded Gibbs, by making as much of a nuisance of himself as he could, that he didn't need his hand held in the hospital, and the Boss could safely go back to the Navy Yard without him. Gibbs had hesitated, because of course he knew that that was what Tony was doing. However, since he also knew from looking at it, and by what both Tony and Dr. Humphries had said, that it wasn't a serious injury, he was at a loss to figure why the SFA was keen to have him gone. He wasn't going to be kept in, so he didn't have to be stopped from going AMA…

_Better for him to be scratching his head over my deviousness, _Tony thought, _than beating himself up over why someone he'd trained went AWOL. _He looked at the light canvas bracing, with its incorporated metal splint and adjustable fasteners, and grinned to himself, remembering how much easier it had been, without _Amonsoquath…_the Bear… growling behind him, to persuade the ER staff how much better for him a brace was than a nasty, cumbersome cast. Even so, he couldn't fit the contraption into his suit sleeve, so he wore the left side of the dark grey Versace slung over his shoulder.

Very romantic, he thought, the wounded hero, his eyes dancing with amusement and self-mockery as he caught sight of his reflection in the glass door. He preened slightly, as two ladies from the Law Department, one younger, one older, both gave him concerned glances as they left for lunch.

Adie, the security guard eyed him sourly. "You never change, DiNozzo," he grumbled. "And I suppose that thing has metal in it? Go on…" But he was grinning as he waved him through.

Gibbs spotted the thing immediately, of course. "DiNozzo, that's removeable."

"I know, Boss," he said cheerfully, "But I've not to remove it for a fortnight." No point in lying… McGee could be into his medical records in under 60 seconds. "Then I can take it off for showers… until then I have to stick my hand out through the curtain…" He fended off the impending growl with a level look straight into the blue eyes. "It's a tiny break, of an insignificant little bone at the base of my thumb." He pointed out where the metal splint ran right up the inside edge of his hand from his forearm to the tip of his thumb, immobilising it, while leaving his fingers relatively free. "Apparently people do it all the time and don't even realise. But I do like to be able to shoot with both hands, so I _will_ look after it, OK? Besides," he added, turning moody, "I'll be on desk duty all that time, won't I?"

Gibbs didn't say yes or no to that. Two could play at the devious game… Tony caught on and changed the subject. "So, what've I missed?"

Ziva said, "Sergeant Nils Ragnar Frandsen. Aged 36, unmarried, no dependents. His unit, having spent three months in the US, after eighteen months in a combat zone, is now in the Adriatic, having departed without him. He is officially UA. Arrangements are being made to interview those who knew him best, including his CO, through MTAC. He requested emergency leave three weeks before the unit came home, claiming that his sister needed his help, but was angry when the request was denied for a variety of reasons. We have yet to ascertain whether this is connected to the refuge in any way; we have been unable to trace the sister. We only know that her first name is Karen. Dr. Humphries checked her records, but said that women coming to the refuge sometimes do not give their real names."

The slightly distracted frown that Tony had noticed on Gibbs' face earlier in the day was back. He said slowly, "Are you thinking that there was a distinct lack of Semper Fi in the decision to deny leave, Boss? A Marine doesn't make a request like that unless he really needs to."

Gibbs' eyes flashed defensively. "We can't jump to conclusions like that, DiNozzo, until we know all the facts," he snapped, then his shoulders slumped. "Aw… you could be right. So, he comes back three weeks later, and what does he find out about his sister that makes him instantly go missing?"

There was silence for a while, and Tony powered up his computer. "Has anyone let Lieutenant Wigg know her hunch was right?" There were headshakes all round, so he messaged her, updating her so far. He had only just hit send, when Tim gave a small grunt of triumph. They all stopped and looked at him.

"I've found her. Had to trace her step by step from childhood… Karen Ritte Hartson, nee Frandsen… five years younger than her brother. Graduated from University of Phoenix in 2000, worked as a journalist until she married Richard Hartson in June, 2003. Baby Birgita born October of same year. Richard Jr. born two and a half years later, April 2006. No record of Karen working at all from the date of her marriage. They've lived here in DC for the last three years. Husband is a Metro police officer. Er…" Tim's voice rose in surprise. "That's _was_ a Metro police officer, Boss. He was murdered four months ago. Pulling up everything I can on him now."

Again there was silence, then Gibbs sat up straight in his chair. "When was that in relation to when Sergeant Frandsen came back to the States?"

"Six days later, Boss."

Tony picked up his desk phone, and tapped out the number with the index finger of his strapped up hand. Gibbs shot him a reproving look, but said nothing. Tony sighed, as he waited for a pick-up at the other end. He didn't blame Gibbs' preoccupation. Was he going to have to prove that the young Marine he'd trained years ago, the brutally murdered Marine, was a murderer himself?

"Oh, hi, Lieutenant! Yeah, it's me. Did you get my email?" He reached over and put her on speakerphone.

"_Oh, yeah. Nice to see my instincts are still good."_

"Nothing wrong with them, Kath." The suggestive tone was back that made Ziva twitchy. "I er… need a favour."

"_You'll owe me, DiNozzo."_

"Mmm, sure…hey, tell you what, Gibbs'll owe you…" The Boss flashed him an unreadable look, as an earthy chuckle came from the speaker. "Kath, I need everything you've got on the murder of your officer, Detective Richard Hartson."

The charged undercurrent was gone in an instant. _"What? You know something about Dickie? DiNozzo, if you-"_

"Hey, no, I don't know anything yet… but it _could _be linked to our Sergeant…"

"_I'll be right over."_ The phone was dropped from a great height. The lazy smile that passed between Gibbs and Tony made Ziva want to scream and chew her hair. "Same ol' Kath, huh, Boss?"

"Don't let her hear you calling her old, DiNozzo."

After a while, Tony and Gibbs went up to MTAC to speak to members of Sergeant Frandsen's unit; the moment they were gone, Ziva was out of her chair.

"McGee!" she hissed. "What is going on?"

Tim didn't have to feign confusion. "Going on, Ziva?"

"Yes. That police Lieutenant! And Tony! And Gibbs! The flirting – the…the familiarity! She is not Tony's type! But he seems to… and Gibbs too…"

Tim shrugged. "Can't say I've _never_ seen Gibbs flirt…"

"But with –" Tim just raised a puzzled eyebrow.

Ziva was trying to remember the remark she'd once heard about fifty summers and a few hard winters, but as she struggled to get it right, she realised that she didn't actually want to say something so cutting. McGee put her out of her misery, but didn't help her confusion. "It was before I joined the team," he said, "so I don't know anything except I heard they were arresting truckers. But they seem to get on. Why not?" He grinned. "Nothing wrong with flirting just for the fun of it."

"Damn' good idea, Special Agent McGee," the woman herself said, as she strode in. "Who d'you like me to flirt with?" She carried a USB in one hand. Behind her, Detective Fordham struggled with two evidence boxes with a well stuffed file balanced on top. Clearly, Lieutenant Wigg didn't forgive easily.

Tim rose politely. "Hello, Lieutenant…"

"Hell, Kath."

Tim grinned again. He had no idea what it was that made him instantly warm to her… and then suddenly he did… He went into Thom E. Gemcity mode, who told him that what you saw was what you got with Kath Wigg, and what he saw was good, in heart and soul. "Well, just McGee, then."

The Lieutenant laughed. "Don't you _have _a first name, McGee?"

"Yeah… but only my mother calls me Tim."

"Oh," the big woman drawled, "I promise not to _mother_ you, Tim." She smiled delightedly at the way his eyebrows headed north to his hairline. "Don't worry," she said easily. "I kind of like 'M'Gee!'"

He fetched her a chair, and then another for the wilting, slightly crumpled thirty-something Fordham, as Ziva put her phone down. "Gibbs will leave Tony to finish in MTAC," she said politely. "He is on his way down." The two women fell to covertly studying each other, while Tim pretended not to watch and ruthlessly suppressed his desire to laugh, and Roy Fordham fidgeted, until Gibbs came strolling down from the mezzanine, with a casual "Hi, Kath; gotta stop meeting like this."

Twenty minutes later and everyone knew as much as everyone else. The dead husband of the missing sister had died in the same way as Frandsen; fighting for his life, with defensive wounds to his arms, but the stroke that had killed him had come from behind. Gibbs thought this might let his Marine off the hook for the murder, but resisted the temptation to draw any conclusions yet.

Nobody had been able to trace any phone numbers belonging to either Frandsen, however Nils Ragnar and Karen communicated there was no record of it, other than one of his unit buddies saying that he'd had a letter. Deliveries of snail mail were rare out in Helmand province, and reading the letter had upset Raggy; he'd gone straight to his CO.

Richard Hartson had called one number repeatedly in the days before he died, but to an unregistered cell.

Since Hartson had not reported his wife and children missing, (which Kath agreed was very odd, and set Fordham to find out if there was anything on record of his using police resources to hunt for them,) there was no way of telling when she had disappeared, and until they could establish a clear time-line relating that and the deaths, no picture was emerging.

Karen could be lying low somewhere, but concerns for her safety and that of her children were growing.

Tony had two other useful bits of information, one from Frandsen's CO, one from a friend. The story of the denial of the leave request was sad, but not surprising; it had taken the letter three weeks to reach Sergeant Frandsen, and the transport it had arrived on was long gone; there was simply no way out of the place until the next aircraft came in. As the Sergeant had refused to reveal the exact contents of the letter, and since whatever had happened had done so three weeks previously, it was felt that there was little Frandsen could do, even if his superiors went to the great trouble of arranging him transport out. They were all getting out of that hell-hole in another three weeks anyway. The Sergeant had not been happy, but had accepted the situation.

The friend had told Tony that Raggy had been saving to start a business when he came out of the Corps in another four years, having given the Marines twenty-two years of his life. One of the ways he saved money was not to maintain an apartment for when he was back home. He always stayed at the same modest but decent hotel until he could find a short-term lease, the friend knew because he'd been there. 'The owner's kind of Raggy's girlfriend.' He'd given the address. And told Tony that the CO's description of his buddy as 'not happy' had been a tad restrained.

Ziva and Tim headed over there right away, and Tony said he'd take a look at the Hartsons' place, enlisting Fordham to drive, while Kath and Gibbs took the physical evidence down to Abby. Kath took no offence at all at having another Agency go over her evidence, such as it was. One of her officers had been murdered, and the case was still unsolved; she'd take all the help she could get, and if that meant working with Jethro… well, she sure didn't have a problem with that.

Ziva and Tim had been first to return; they had found that although Millie, the owner of the hotel had been expecting Sergeant Frandsen to check in, he'd never arrived, and she'd not heard from him. She'd been worried, she said. He'd not given any sign of wanting to break up with her, and if he ever did want to, he wouldn't without telling her to her face. He was straight like that. She'd not reported him missing because she didn't want to draw the Corps' attention to the UA if they didn't know. She'd shown them his room, although there was nothing to be gained from that, it had been let many times since. When she'd been told of his death, she, like Seren Humphries, had left the agents in no doubt of her belief in him as a good guy. They'd regretfully left her in tears.

After the first few attempts Tony hadn't tried to draw the nervy Fordham out in conversation; the guy gave the impression he'd bolt if he weren't driving at fifty miles an hour, and the SFA wondered if he were really the right person to be working with Kath Wigg. As he recalled it, she was as bad as Gibbs for expecting her people to read her mind, and being a sorehead if they didn't.

When they got to the Hartson place, they could see it was in a holding condition. Nobody knew what to do, so neighbours cut the grass and took the mail in, just to keep the place looking respectable, until poor Miz Hartson and those two cute kids came back. Yes, a guy had come looking for them not long after Richard was killed, tall, hard looking, military sort of man, but they'd gone. When? Difficult to say, it had been the school holidays, they could have gone away. Last saw them round the end of term. Were they happy? Well, the kids were well cared for… occasionally heard fireworks from the grown-ups, but they never hurt the kids…

Inside, the house was forlorn. Investigators had taken paperwork and anything of interest. Someone had taken out the garbage, emptied the fridge, switched it off and left it open, but apart from that and the thin layer of dust, it was as if the family had just stepped out, and would be back any time.

They went back to the car, and Fordham said, "So Frandsen came here after Dickie Hartson died. That was what… a couple of weeks after he went UA. Add to that the three weeks the letter took to get to him, and the three weeks he had to wait… the trouble started maybe eight weeks ago. Maybe we should take a look at other things that were going on in the area round then… see if there were any related crimes…"

Tony looked surprised that the Detective had opened his mouth. "That's a good idea, Fordham. Why don't you call your boss and suggest it? Might get her off your back a bit."

"You noticed."

"That she's getting you back for something? Too right. What did you do?"

"I haven't a clue. And she isn't saying. I just have to wait until it all blows over."

"Oooh… you think that's the right way to handle Kath?"

"Er… don't you?"

"Take my word for it… she and my Boss are a lot alike. You've done something to annoy her… you try to ignore it and hope it'll go away. That's just doubling the annoyance. Fess up – you haven't a clue how you've upset her; but if she tells you you'll put it right. And smile. Works with my Boss…"

"Right… your boss, and mine… did it strike you they might have… you know…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "More advice? Don't even go there." He turned to look out of the window, to conceal a small smile at the memory that was tiptoeing through his mind, as Fordham drove with one hand, and dug out his cell phone with the other.

They parked the car, and rode up in the elevator. As they stepped out and walked across to the bull pen, they were crashed into at knee level, by a small, sturdy boy of about four, who was pretending to be a train and not looking where he was going. He had a mop of dark brown hair, and chocolate eyes so dark you couldn't see the pupils until you were really close up.

"Hey, Bach! Hey… come here… _tyrd yma…_" His mother rounded him up. "Oh, hello, Tony. Sorry about that…"

"No problems, Seren… he didn't get anything vital. I've got used to defending the important bits over the years. This is your son, then?"

"This is Gwyn," she said proudly. "Gwyn Bowen Humphries… lad and a half."

"So, what are you doing here?"

"I found something, so I brought it in right away."

"Really?" Tony lifted the tiny express train to sit on his arm and they walked into the bull pen together.

Gibbs looked up. "Hey, DiNozzo. Just in time."

"In time, Boss?"

"Got a job for you… since you'd be bored on desk duty. You're going undercover."

**AN: Going to be a bit busy for the next few days, but I'll still try to have the next chappy up before the weekend.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sorry this has taken so long to update… RL's been a real nuisance!**

Raggy

Chapter 3

"O-kay…." Tony said slowly, "So I guess you've been busy while we've been gone."

Gwyn, still sitting on the SFA's good arm, was running his hand curiously over the brace on his other wrist. "Broken," he pronounced solemnly. "Daddy broke his leg."

"No kidding, li'l buddy. Is it mended now?" The little boy nodded seriously, and Tony looked round. On his desk there was a cardboard drum with an animal jigsaw, a plastic drum with brightly coloured felt-nibs, and a colouring book with knights, pirates and astronauts. "Do you want to go back to your things?"

Gwyn nodded again, and said "Please," with grown-up politeness, and Tony sat him down in his chair. The little boy picked up a blue felt-nib and started on a knight's horse with instant concentration. Tony looked round at the rest of the bull pen. Yes, they'd been busy. At the back, Ziva knelt on the floor with a back-pack and its contents spread out on a sheet. She was wearing gloves, and photographing each page of a notebook.

Gibbs and Kath sat side by side with the file the Lieutenant had brought with her. Of the evidence boxes there was no sign; he guessed they'd gone down to Abby. McGee had the same look of deep concentration as the little guy sitting at Tony's desk, but he lifted his head long enough to invite Fordham to join him.

"I found the back-pack under Raggy's bed," Seren said softly. "Once I knew he was going to be around a lot, I fixed him a room… scarcely more than a cubby-hole really. We're short on space, but I didn't think he had anywhere else to live and I couldn't leave him to sleep on the sofa in the front lobby all the time." She sighed sadly. "I didn't go in there; it was his space, he had his own key, but when I knew he wasn't coming back, I looked. His bed was made neatly, there was a towel hung precisely over the back of the chair, and a shirt on a hanger on the back of the door. That was it."

She shook her head sadly. "I decided to strip the room; there are always people needing beds… as I pulled the frame out from the wall I saw the back-pack underneath. I could no more stop myself from looking inside than I could fly. I got some surgical gloves, and looked. When I saw the letter, I almost read it; when I saw the notebook, I _did._ It didn't seem so personal… I read some things, and that was enough. I collected Gwyn from pre-school, and came straight here."

"Abby's got the letter," Gibbs said. "But you can read it up there." His voice had an edge to it that stood the hair up on the back of Tony's neck. So did the letter.

_Dear Raggy,_

_How are you?_

_Oh, bruv, you have no idea how I miss you. You're far away, with your own concerns, and facing such things as I can only use my literary side to imagine; I shouldn't burden you with __**my **__problems, and I know you can't come home yet… so I guess I'm writing this just to relieve my feelings, as if you were here with me. I've never counted the weeks so hard!_

_I needed to tell you some things, because if I'm not around when you get back, I won't be able to let you know then. I'll start at the beginning._

_You remember when you came home from your first tour, you told me what some of the guys got up to – you quoted Shakespeare to me? __**You**__ quoted to __**me**__, dammit! You mentioned Autolycus – from 'A Winter's Tale' – the 'snapper up of unconsidered trifles' – you said how easy it was in a war zone to steal small, valuable things. Anything from anybody, you said. You wondered what guys did with the stuff they thieved when they got home? Some things would be difficult to dispose of, like religious objects, or antiquities… you'd have to find the right person. _

_Well, hell, Rags, I'm a journalist, even if Rich won't let me work. I think he's afraid I'd bring in more money than he does. Thing is, I would. But I'd never shove it in his face…doesn't he know that? And it'd be better for the children if we had a bit more to spend on them. What am I saying? 'We' doesn't seem to cut it any more. Truth is, I can't remember when it last __**did**__._

Tony frowned at that, and turned away from the plasma, where Karen Hartson's anguish was on display for everyone to see, to think. His frown deepened, until he caught the thread of thought that had been floating out of reach. Gibbs, who knew that look, simply waited. "McGee," the SFA said slowly, "the childrens' names… Bridget? Richard? Same as his father, right?"

"Birgita Signe, and Richard Henry," Tim obliged.

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "What does that suggest to anyone?" He glanced round.

"The daughter has romantic, pretty names from the country of her mother's family," Ziva said. "The son has solid traditional names with no frills, including his father's."

"Yes… what if there's more to it than that?"

"Richard didn't have a hand in naming his daughter," Tim said. "Didn't know anything about girls' names? Left it to his wife?"

"Or didn't care?" Kath mused. "Only a daughter? But when a son came along he insisted on no silly foreign names, and wanted the boy named after him. Speculation, I know, but it has that feel…"

"It'll do fine to prove or disprove," Gibbs said. "Look at 'Rich won't let me work' – intelligent woman, graduate – not allowed to pursue her career. Hasty wedding because she's pregnant, then finds she's expected to be a stay at home wife. Could be you've hit on something there, DiNozzo."

"Richard Hartson wasn't a graduate," Tim added, overlaying the letter temporarily with the dead man's police dossier. "Went straight in as a cadet, from high school."

They all looked at the picture staring back out at them; a man whose mouth dragged down at the corners, whose flat stare betrayed no hint of a sense of humour. Well, Tony thought, it was difficult to put any life into an official mugshot, but he didn't think he liked the character he saw. He smiled briefly at McGee, who changed the screen back, and he read on, still wondering where he and undercover came into all this.

_I was curious, bruv. I did some poking about, just to keep my newshound nose in practice! It wasn't that difficult – I already knew the wives of a good few servicemen, through the kids' school; I'd go to coffee mornings and baby showers, anything to avoid boredom! I found some women were quite happy to talk about windfalls their men had had when they'd come home from a tour abroad. I got names, I talked to one or two of the husbands in a roundabout way, you know, their ambitions for their kids, how they were going to finance them…_

_Mostly they didn't realise how much information they were giving me – I pride myself on being a good old-fashioned sleuth. One guy was quite happy to boast – he'd had a few drinks at a mutual friend's birthday party – he didn't see what he was doing as any sort of a crime; as far as he and his friends were concerned, it was the smart thing to do._

_The thing is, I realised there's a whole kind of ad hoc organisation developed; guys are getting lists before they deploy on what to steal to order when they get there. I spoke to one sailor who said he has nothing to do with it because he has principles, as do most of his friends, but there's nothing they can do about it because they don't know how high up it goes._

Tony glanced at his Boss, whose jaw was tight. He knew that not every man who joined the Corps truly understood the meaning of Semper Fi, but he didn't have to like it. They exchanged a steady look – 'You ok?' 'Just keep reading, DiNozzo.' Kath watched the silent exchange and nodded, satisfied. They were still looking out for each other, just as they had when she'd first met them; but better at it these days… she felt the proximity of the Marine next to her, and smiled inwardly at a memory or two, before concentrating on the job again.

_When we got back from that birthday party, we had a row. I thought Rich was mad at me for talking to other men. It was more what we'd been saying to each other. He told me I wasn't a journalist, to stop behaving like one. That I was a homemaker, and to be content with looking after the children. I told him I did a good job with the children, but I was a person in my own right, which he seemed to have forgotten. _

_That was the first time he hit me. I was shocked, outraged, everything else. I told him if he ever did it again he'd be sorry, and he backed off. He made some excuse that I shouldn't want to know about the things we'd been talking about. I thought he was being a cop, warning me away from the seamy side of life. Until I heard him speaking on the phone to the guy I'd been talking to! Upbraiding him for getting drunk and blabbering. Up to then did I have the faintest idea my own husband was mixed up in it? Oh, bruv, not a clue!_

_Raggy, I listened in on every phone call I could, and I read all his emails – by calling up the deleted ones – and it's worse than I ever thought. Police, civilians, military… the actual numbers are few, but they're organised. And d'you know the worst thing? Brace yourself._

_Because they're not sure it's completely secret – that rather drunk Corporal Borlovsky might not be the only one who's shot off his mouth – they don't go to the 'receivers', as they call their high class fences, themselves. There's a place Rich has patrolled, and been called out to a good few times – a refuge for battered wives. It's called Valley House, here in DC. How they're getting to them I've no idea, but they're making women who shelter there do their transporting. The homecomers pass the stuff to the police, they give it to women in the refuge and coerce them into taking it across the country for them. Raggy, it's putting distressed, vulnerable women and their __**children**__ under pressure, and at enormous risk!_

_I made some enquiries about the place, and it has a good reputation. It's run by a board of directors, ten of them, and about twenty volunteers. They're all trained in counselling, some are doctors, teachers… they do a good job, and I know they're not all involved, because I heard Rich saying they had to be careful. He said 'the minute H, H and A get wind of it we're in trouble.' So whoever they are, they're not involved. But somewhere in there, there's a threat to the people they're supposed to be helping. _

_I haven't got a stitch of proof, but I'm going to find out who H, H and A are. I'm going to tell them. I'm going to warn them. And I'm going to find somewhere to hide with the children. I'm so sorry to pile all this on you, bruv – I just don't know what else to do. Hurry home, Raggy. I love you, and right now I need you so much._

_Kaz x_

Tony bit his lip and sighed, feeling the writer's desperation and fear, and her resolve and courage. "Ah…" he said softly. "You want me to volunteer."

"How do you know that, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"Well, Zi, I don't think I'd look good in a dress, so I can't be a battered wife. A violent husband wouldn't learn anything by going there, so… volunteer it has to be."

Seren left her son drawing spaceships, and came to his side. "H and H are myself and Patch Hastings," she began, and Tony's face lit up. "You know Patch? And Polly, and Lucy?"

"Oh, yes." She turned back to her son. "Gwyn, who's your best friend?"

The little boy beamed and giggled. "Lucy!"

"See? And I knew who _you _were as soon as you introduced yourself in the shelter, Tony. Wasn't the right time to talk about it, though."

"No, it wasn't. But any friend of theirs is above suspicion as far as I'm concerned. Who's A?"

"Martina Auden. She'd cut the nads off anyone who tried to harm the women or children in any way. I'd also be prepared to swear on my husband's Cardiff City football – _sorry…_ soccer shirt, that young Matthew Dowd, the student I mentioned, would never be involved in such a thing… "

She sighed. "This has really pulled the rug from under my feet," she said painfully. "We've been doing good work… _such_ good work… and I'd have happily said that I could trust every one of my colleagues… but now, if you put me on the spot…" She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I _said_ Raggy was one of the good guys… I still say it. And now he's dead…."

She bit back a sob, as her little boy looked up with a frown, hearing the sad note in his mother's voice. She smiled at him, and the chocolate eyes were lowered to his astronauts again. Seren made sure she spoke steadily as she went on, "And wherever Karen may be, she's never been in contact with me… How do I protect all the good people who work with me? How do I know who I have to protect them from? How do I protect the refuge women and children from the people who're supposed to be helping them?"

Gibbs came and stood at her other side. "Short answer is, you don't. Not alone."

She looked at him and waited, and he went on sternly, "Y'see, what we _should_ have done, when you brought the back-pack, was to say thanks, now go. You shouldn't have been involved in this at all. But, you'd read some of those notebook entries, so you already knew something about what was going on. About what got Sergeant Frandsen killed. My gut said you weren't involved, even before I read the letter, but the only way we're going to find out who is, is by putting someone under cover. So, DiNozzo goes in, nobody else is read in – except Commander Hastings, since he already knows Tony. Ignorance is the best protection for everyone else."

It was the longest speech Gibbs had made in a week. "You're right, Boss," the SFA said reluctantly. "But…"

"But you're not happy about putting civilians in danger. I know, Tony. I haven't forgotten _how _Frandsen died, either. But the situation is what it is. And you haven't seen the notebook yet. Women have been going missing."

"And children," Seren said, and all of them involuntarily glanced over at Gwyn. Tony looked sick. "The only other thing I could do would be to close the centre down, and that's simply not going to happen. The bad guys would know we'd found out, and we'd never catch them. And women in trouble would have nowhere to go."

"_We_?" 

"We."

He gave in. "OK, what's my cover?"

"I'll ask Abby to come up," Tim said. "She's busy going over the Hartson forensics, but she's really good on cover…"

"Well… I think I might be able to help there," Seren said. "I know Patch is expecting a visitor… Parl'Italiano, Tony?"

He looked puzzled, then replied with a roll of his eyes, at some length and so fast she hadn't a hope of understanding what he said, but the tone quite clearly implied 'Gimme a break'. He noticed Kath watching with that salacious expression she sometimes used, and he grinned at her. "Oh… bella Katerina… you like-a Italian boy?" She just gave an earthy chuckle in reply.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It was way past noon on the following day, when Patch Hastings rolled his Saab into the parking lot across the road from Valley House. He was neat and smart in his uniform, having come from his post at Bethesda. The man who stepped from the passenger side and crossed the road alongside him was his antithesis. He was as tall as the gangling doctor, although more solidly built, but he wore rumpled brown cargoes, a collarless cambric shirt in a pale olive shade with the bottom two buttons unfastened, and bare feet shoved into scuffed loafers. He also sported wire framed glasses, messy hair and a good day's growth of stubble.

The two women manning the desk watched their approach through the narrow doorway; the elder didn't know what to make of the scruffy newcomer, although from the laughter he was clearly a friend of the Commander. The younger woman had to remember to close her mouth before the man stepped aside to let his friend enter first, or he'd have seen her gaping like a fish. 'Oh, boy,' she was thinking, as she observed the sparkling green eyes, 'The Commander's brought me a present.'

The older woman was thinking something along the lines of, 'Hmm, well, he looks intelligent enough, but I'm far too old and sensible to be taken in by a pretty face…oh, my…" as the full wattage of the stranger's smile was turned towards her.

"'Allo," he said shyly. Martina Auden looked him up and down severely. "Ah… I… I know… I jus' come from airport… I don' look good… Scusi…"

"He's right," Patch said. "He's been shedding layers in the car… it was the same in Kabul, he hated having to dress formal."

The Italian, as his thick accent proclaimed him, looked as if he were struggling to keep up with the words. "Shedding….?" he asked bewilderedly.

"Yeah…" Patch said teasingly. "Ya know, taking your clothes off."

Jessica Rhodes almost exploded into giggles at the puzzled expression that lingered on the Italian's face, even as she wondered what were her chances of getting him to take his clothes off for her some time.

"Martina, Jessica," Patch said firmly, taking a stern hold of the situation. "You remember I mentioned the friend I met in Afghanistan? The pathologist? This is Renato."

**AN: You like-a Italian boy? Let me know…**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: My Italian is limited to what I learned in order to sing in the language many years ago. I didn't want to spend half the night on various translation programmes that all said something different – so… I'm cheating. Where Italian is being used, I'm writing in English, in Italics. Italian… Italics, geddit? Never mind…**

Raggy

Chapter 4

Lieutenant Wigg was in a vile temper, and was trying hard not to show it, as she didn't want anybody who wasn't on her team speculating on the cause of it. Roy Fordham wanted to tell her that nobody would notice any different, but although he'd been astonished to find that DiNozzo's suggestion had worked, he didn't feel secure enough yet to go _that_ far.

His idea about other happenings in the area of the Hartson residence hadn't yielded anything of interest, but making it clear to his boss that he needed to be _told_ if he'd made a mistake, so he wouldn't repeat it seemed to have changed her attitude to him for the better, and she'd listened to a couple of other suggestions he'd made. He was busy kicking himself up and down the precinct, because he realised he'd made a very basic mistake when he'd been transferred to her team three weeks ago: he'd listened to other peoples' opinions first. He'd gone into the job terrified and hating her, and he'd been wrong.

Thanks, DiNozzo – I owe you.

The boss snorted furiously at the sheet she was reading, and he suddenly realised he _did_ know what she was thinking. He said calmly, and quietly enough not to be overheard, "No-one likes to think of dirty cops, Lieutenant. We already know we've got them. But whoever we find, they won't be one of yours."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Kath Wigg huffed and threw her pen down. "Wish I could be so sure."

"You wouldn't have anyone on your team you didn't trust. Shit, Lieutenant, I hope you trust me!"

She smiled at the alarm that galloped across his face. "Before you trusted yourself, actually. I requested you. You just needed to stop panicking and do your job." Now she was enjoying his stunned expression. "You'd never worked for a woman boss before, had you?" He didn't answer, trying to find the words to explain that no, that wasn't it. "OK, then, for a man-eating old bat."

"No!" Forham's outrage was genuine. Then… hell, if DiNozzo could look his boss in the eye and say what he thought, so could he. "I was thinking cougar, actually."

Now it was Kath's turn to look stunned. Finally, she shook her head. "Well, I'll be damned," she muttered quietly. She remembered who Fordham had been riding with yesterday. Didn't take long for the Italian boy to corrupt one of her officers. Thanks, DiNozzo… which made her think of Gibbs.

"I trust my team," she said slowly. "I'd _like _to think anyone I trained learned something." She sighed. "You remember Gibbs yesterday? When he first realised Frandsen went AWOL and maybe killed Hartson? It was eating him that someone he'd trained would do that… how'll I feel if someone I've trusted in the past has gone down this road? Mothers and children disappearing? Coerced, maybe murdered?"

"You'll be mad, Boss. Hell, the children element always makes it so much worse… but that doesn't make you responsible." Now it was Fordham's turn to sigh. "What are you looking at?"

"Logs of every time a call was made from Valley House, and every time a patrol made a routine call. Nothing stands out – too many calls, too many officers have been there multiple times for anyone to look suspicious."

"Mmm – might be able to narrow it down a bit… where's Jeanette?"

"Right here," a voice said from behind him. "NCIS just dropped these off; the interim forensics on Hartson, and our original file on him. Oliver's taken the physical evidence back to the lock-up. What do you need?" The junior detective reached for her reading glasses; when Roy had that hopeful tone in his voice he wanted her to something electronically clever.

"Can you bring up the secure link to NCIS, find out if Dr. Humphries has left _her _log of police visits, then compare it with the boss's list?"

"Course. If Dr. Humphries hasn't left one, I'll ask her to." She took the list from Kath, sat down at her desk, and rattled silently away for a while, working the Cadogan magic, while the fourth member of the team, Oliver Lasz returned and powered up his computer.

"That's odd," Detective Cadogan said suddenly. "Or not. Dr. Humphries says she'll let me have the log as soon as possible, but someone at the refuge has tried to delete it. She says not to worry, Special Agent McGee will retrieve it soon."

"And when he does, we're going to find that there were some extra calls on that log that aren't on ours, and they're the guys we need to look at first," Kath said. "Good thinking, Roy." She didn't give him time to reflect that it was the first time she'd used his first time. "While you're waiting for that, see if their Miss Sciuto has anything new on the forensics."

Fordham picked up the file and almost immediately said "Wo!" All three looked up at him. "She found a partial, very degraded, on the inside of Hartson's belt, she's currently trying to retrieve it more fully. Latex dusting powder smudged there too, she says it's not NCIS, and she's ascertaining if it could be military. She's sent the formula, and asks us to find out if it's used by Metro. Someone wearing latex gloves moved the body." He wasn't surprised when the boss let out an _almost _sotto voce stream of curses, without repeating herself.

"We know Hartson was bent, from the letter," he said evenly. "We knew there'd be more…" His eyes scanned quickly down the original report which had been returned by NCIS, and suddenly hissed. Again, three pairs of eyes regarded him and waited. He braced himself and squared his shoulders. "Boss… how strong was that bus driver's alibi?"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Patch and 'Renato' weren't going to work together if they could avoid it; the physician wasn't a natural undercover operative, and fought the giggles the whole time, especially when his friend spoke in highly fractured English, with a thick Neapolitan accent. As soon as Seren came on duty, he made his excuses and went home.

The cover was quite accurate, all things considered; Patch _was_ expecting a visit from his friend Renato Corragi, a pathologist he'd met in Bosnia, who was coming over to improve his very rudimentary English, and testify at the trial of a war criminal. He'd already said he'd be glad to help Patch at the shelter, and the Directors had been happy about it. He just wasn't coming for another ten days.

Seren, whose idea the cover had been, knew of the impending visit and had offered to help, since she spoke some Italian from au pairing there as a youngster, saving up money for medical school. Renato, the bogus version, was verr' 'appy to help at the refuge with her. Trouble loomed when her husband had to be read into the situation; Rod was the chairman of the directors of Valley House, and although he accepted without question that things could not remain as they were, with the endangering of vulnerable women, he was just as concerned about the danger to his own wife.

Gibbs wasn't happy either, but fifteen minutes of serious discussion between himself, Rod, Seren and Tony left them all in agreement. 'Renato' would be at the shelter for three days, with back-up never far away; if nothing had emerged at the end of that time, they would have to think of something else.

"My wife's safety is down to you, DiNozzo," Rod said shortly, and Tony simply nodded gravely. He understood very well. Now, as they sat in the common room behind the locked door at the refuge, Seren tried to explain a little, in halting Italian, as many curious people were eyeing the newcomer. Tony, for his part, sat with a look of earnest concentration, getting both the refugee women and the helpers used to it as his default expression.

"_Rod's short for Rhodri,"_ she said carefully. _"He's never been to Wales, but he's proud of his fiery Welsh heritage. I've at least been there a few times, although I was born here. And I speak it better than Italian, because my parents speak it."_ 'Renato' nodded, helping her with the odd word, being patient because he understood what she was trying to say long before she found the right way to say it.

He'd concealed his Sig in a magnetic box far under the metal table where the coffee machine stood. He still bristled with two knives and a backup Glock. He'd been there all afternoon, and the evening was drawing in; Martina and Patch had shown him what lay on the other side of the combination locked door, and he'd spoken hesitantly to a couple of ladies; so far he'd spotted nothing.

The large common room, where the armchairs and sofas, although donated, were comfortable and cheerful, and the TV was large enough for people not to have to jockey for seats to watch it, had a library of hand-me-down books for adults and children, that filled half of one wall. Behind it was a kitchen/dining room, where the mothers either cooked for their own families, or pitched in together if that worked better, and a utility room with a washer and dryer. There was a children's playroom, and two corridors, one above the other, where each bedroom had a single and a double bed and a tiny toilet/shower room. Tony noticed that the whole place was spotless.

He also saw something that he'd already seen more than enough of as a cop; bruised cheekbones, and haunted eyes, silent uneasy children… he gave what reassurance he could within his cover. He knew he'd be spending some time on the front desk, and hoped for their sakes that none of the husbands came calling.

Martina had left, and so in the end had young Jessica, who'd tried to find reasons to extend her front desk duty, and was planning to volunteer for extra tomorrow, in spite of the fact that part of Tony's cover was a bright, heavy, very obvious wedding ring. The nice Italian boy needed to be off-limits, and the real Renato had a wife and two sons in Pozzuoli. He knew he didn't have to worry about the women taking shelter, assuming they were genuine; if they reacted to him as a man at all it was with great wariness. He'd look more closely at anyone who didn't.

He went into the playroom with Seren to tidy a little, as it was getting late and around bed-time, at least for the younger children. Some of the children protested; Seren said it was time for bed, 'Renato' repeated it in Italian. Some of the children giggled, so he told them his name. "Renato," they said, and giggled more. "Say something else." He pulled a face, and repeated an Italian children's rhyme about a silly old farmer, with actions and faces, using his stiff left thumb in its brace to point at his head, and suddenly realised he had an audience. A couple of mothers had drifted into the room as well, and stood at the back watching, as the children demanded more entertainment.

"_What do they want?"_

"_They want you to sing for them, Renato."_

Tony laughed. "You wan' me to sing? OK… Se sei felice tu lo sai batti le mani…"

"Ooh…" one little boy squealed. "That's the same tune as 'If you're happy and you know it clap your hands'!"

After a hilarious ten minutes of the children trying to teach Renato the English version, and him trying to teach them the Italian, Seren said, "Give Renato a break, kids… he's going to be watching the desk tonight; let him get his breath back. It's bed time."

"Si… is bed time. We sing… more yester – no… "

"Tomorrow," the helpful little boy said.

"Si. We sing more tomorrow."

He watched as the boy's mother held her hand out to him; she and her son both looked just a tiny bit more relaxed now. If only it were that easy… He became aware of eyes on him, and he looked away from the two, to see another woman he'd not met before, standing in the doorway watching him. He smiled shyly, and the woman simply stared back. He wasn't sure he liked her expression; no, he was damn sure he didn't… a mixture of predatory, calculating and superior.

Well dressed, not a runaway… volunteer? Director? She finally smiled, and held out her hand. "Hello… I'm Patricia Gerrard. I'm a director here." Yes, right. Her eyes raked over him, in a blatant way that he wouldn't have used on a girl in a bar, lighting briefly and disdainfully on his wedding ring, then going to his chest and finally dragging back to his face. "You must be Renato."

He let his eyes light up in relief that he understood something. "Si… I am Renato Corrigi… 'Allo…" He was stumbling and shy as she held his hand for longer than she needed.

"I think we're going to get on really well, Renato…"

"Ah… signora… Patricia… my English is not so good…"

"Even better," she drawled. "We'll find other ways to communicate." She swept out.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Roy Fordham liked going over to the Navy Yard… it was way less cramped than his own team's jumble of desks in the Squad Room, even with seven people in the MCRT's bull pen. Jeanette and Oliver hadn't yet had the pleasure, and spent their time looking round, with not much to say yet, as the two teams compared notes.

"Have you heard from DiNozzo?" was Kath's first question.

"Nope. Didn't commit him to a regular reporting time that he maybe couldn't adhere to. Anything urgent he's going to write in Italian and email to his wife."

"That's me," Tim said cheerfully. "My name's Carlotta. He's not mailed me yet."

"So what _have_ we heard? Shall we start?"

McGee forced the corner of his mouth not to turn up; it was the first time he'd _ever_ heard Gibbs asking, not telling, a member of a different force or agency what to do next. The Boss looked across at him, so he started the ball rolling.

"I retrieved the deleted log, and sent it over to Detective Cadogan, who ran it against the official list, and we have eight names – four patrols, that bear investigating. I've been working on Sergeant Frandsen's notebook, he had a list of names of women and children who took off from the shelter without warning. Martina Auden, the director Seren trusts, and Karen's letter confirms as not involved, went through it with me, and added one more recent one. She admired the Sergeant's investigating skill; she had no idea he was doing it. We've come up with nine family names so far that we know are genuine. Ziva's been pulling background to find out where they might go, and she's put bolos out nationwide."

"Nothing so far," Ziva confirmed. "The women concerned have family all over the country, and those I have been able to contact so far have not seen or heard from them. I am still working on that."

"Did you confirm that Ms Auden is trustworthy by your own investigation, Gibbs? You once told me never to assume."

"Well, yeah, Kath, we did." Something about her tone made him look at her curiously. "Why're you asking?"

"Because I did assume, dammit. Remember I said I'd checked the bus driver's alibi? His colleagues said that he'd checked his vehicle in at the same time as all the rest of them at the end of the day shift, and gone to check it out again at the same time as the rest of them next morning, which was when he found the body. Fordham wondered if we ought to have trusted his friends' statements, and we checked with the cleaners at the depot. They said that the vehicle came back late, driver made some excuse about a bad hold-up at Bethesda… but it looked as though someone had been trying to swill it out with water around the front seats."

"Cadogan and I went back to talk to the driver as they were coming off shift," Lasz said. They said they'd lied because he asked them to… he's a poor henpecked guy with a wife with ideas above herself, they felt sorry for him."

"What made you wonder if the other drivers were lying, Detective Fordham?" Ziva asked, before Gibbs could ask for more information.

"Well… when the original forensics report came back to us… you have to understand that it had been on the back burner for a while and it wasn't our case anyway…" Gibbs held his tongue because he knew the man was defending his boss. "I was looking at it and I saw there'd been diesel fuel and motor oil on Hartson's uniform. I wouldn't have thought anything particular if I hadn't spent the early morning in a bus station."

"The latex dust didn't help a lot unfortunately, we use that brand and lots of others; Maryland State Police, and our own and their coroners departments also do, but the fact that it was there and the print suggest that someone who was used to crime scenes moved Hartson's body. We have no idea where he was killed, only that his body was dumped," Lasz backed him up. Fordham and McGee suddenly looked at each other, and said "Route!" at the same time. They bent over Tim's computer, and the agent hammered furiously.

"Boss!" Mcgee and the detective both looked up and yelled at the same time. "Hartson's body was found near Bethesda, on our driver's route!"

"What's the guy's name?"

"Mickey Gerrard," Kath said, remembering the rather colourless guy she'd checked out.

Ziva's head jerked up. "Gerrard!" She ran back to her desk, and shuffled papers briefly. "Yes… here we are . Patricia Gerrard is listed as a director of Valley House. Gibbs – you do not believe in coincidence!"

Once again, McGee's fingers flew over the keys. "Not a coincidence, Boss," he said after a few minutes. "She's the wife with ideas above herself."

"Call –"

"I am doing so, Gibbs," Ziva said steadily. "Tony is not answering Renato's phone."

**AN: I've had some lovely reviews… seems a cheek to ask for more…**


	5. Chapter 5

Raggy

Chapter 5

Tim's email alert pinged. "It's alright," he said. "Renato's mailing Carlotta." He waited for the translation program he'd already set up to kick in; Tony had promised to keep it simple.

"'I am at the front desk overnight'," the young agent read. "'I have much time to sit and think… did Hartson report his wife missing? ...Did he… did anyone use police resources, open or secret… to look for her? …It might mean she hid successfully, …and it might give us a few more names to add to …the inebriated Corporal Borlovsky."

"I'll get on it," Jeanette said, from Tony's desk.

"How does a translation program come up with 'inebriated'? 'Got to go. Ciao, bella.' Ha. He doesn't know about the Gerrards yet. We need to warn him, Boss."

"Well, hell, Carlotta, answer the email, then!" As Tim was messaging, Oliver Lasz's phone chirped. He listened silently for a quite a while, his face darkening. He muttered a terse 'thanks', snapped it shut, and looked up.

"We asked for any hits on the BOLOs Ziva put out to be routed to me personally, and fixed for a dispatcher I trusted to send them on to me and say nothing."

Ziva added, "We felt it was the lesser of two evils to put the requests out, and risk alerting the corrupt individuals, than to miss information, so we did not inform Metro."

Oliver nodded. "We've had just two reports so far… Cindy Paretti and her two year old son Carlo, killed when the brakes failed on the stolen car she was driving, outside Milwaukee. Evidence inconclusive on why they failed, but the car apparently had been used to transport something called Bulgarian Jasmine."

"Oh," Jeanette said. "That'd be worth stealing… it's an ingredient of some of the most expensive perfumes in the world."

"_Anything from anybody,_" Gibbs growled, recalling Karen's letter. "What we feared most – a child's dead as well as his mother. What about the other report?"

Lasz looked at the senior agent grimly. "Two traumatised children found at a country cross-roads three weeks ago, in Oklahoma. All they were able to say was that their names were Danny and Marsha, and a man met them off the bus and took mommy. They'd been on lots of buses. They were both bruised and undernourished, and hadn't had a wash or a change of clothes in days, and were scared out of their wits. They came up as the children of Dawn Stillman, of Annandale. She's never been found. The children are 'recovering' – I hope – with a foster family. Nothing else so far, including the latest family to disappear."

There was a heavy silence, into which Tim's phone chimed. He put it on speaker.

"Boss? Y'all there? Just listen, before anyone comes. The lovely Patricia I've met; didn't know about Mickey. _Mrs._ Gerrard's outside right now, making out with a guy who arrived in a sedan with a Metro PD prefix to the licence plate. Pretty certain that makes him _not _Mr. Gerrard."

"Logging into the security camera now, Tony."

"OK, Carlotta… so she has a lover as well as a husband. One that we know of, at least. She's already made a pass at me… Stop laughing, Ziva. Oh yeah, the guy's just given her a package… about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Did you get that?"

"This is McGee you're talking to. There. We're in."

"What the blazes was that noise?"

"That was me exploding, DiNozzo," Kath said. "Senior Sergeant Matthew P. Rennie. The Third. Not one of mine… ever."

"That's good, Kath." Quietly… "Boss… I'm prepared to bet a month of Pizzas that your Marine didn't murder anyone. Gotta go, she's coming back in."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony slid a pile of leaflets, a mug of coffee and a couple of _'Teach Yourself English'_ books onto the lifting flap that gave access to the space behind the counter, and swung round to the computer. He opened up the 'Carlotta' window, and began to type, hearing steps approaching the flap. In the reflection on the coffee machine, he saw Patricia glare, and give up.

"Carissima Carlotta," her voice drawled behind him, and he swung his chair barely halfway round.

"_La mia moglie," _he said stiffly. "My wife." He looked pointedly at her wedding ring, then out towards where the car had been. "Your 'usband?"

Her laugh was chilly, as she punched the combination to the inner door. "My husband," she said, "is a poor, stupid mouse. He has his uses." She looked back at him, and he kept that look of struggling non-comprehension in place as she added, "All men have their uses." She disappeared through the door.

"Oh, they sure do," Tony muttered, as he turned the computer to monitoring the cameras. He watched as Patricia stopped, all smiles, to speak with Seren, who was sitting with one of the women, going over a sheaf of official looking papers. After a moment, the doctor pointed to the staircase that led to the landing outside the upper bedrooms. The other director nodded, and a few moments later she appeared on the camera at the top of the stairs. She was lifting the package out of her mock-croc shoulder bag as she opened the door without knocking.

Tony waited, timing how long she was in there, and bringing up another window to see who occupied that room. Cherie Braithwaite, and daughter Susie, aged six. The brief history said that Cherie's husband had fled after the latest violent episode, and there was a warrant out for his arrest, but he hadn't been located, and his wife was too afraid to go home. The tall agent growled; Patricia's latest intended mule was the worst possible one to pick on; her husband was in the wind, and outside these walls she wasn't safe, and she knew it. And so did Patricia.

He thought about that… why pick someone whose task might be wrecked by the appearance of her ex? The bitch… what better way to coerce the woman than 'Oh, Cherie… we know where your husband is. If you co-operate we'll take care of him – but if you don't, we'll tell him exactly where to find you.'

No more than five minutes later, the director emerged from Cherie Braithwaite's room, with a satisfied smile on her lips that Tony longed to wipe off. Once again, she stopped to speak to Seren, but not to any of the women or older children who were still in the common room.

The SFA contrasted the appearance of the two women; Seren dressed down and scruffy like so many of the refuge's guests, in jeans and a baggy cotton tunic, Patricia in a Balenciaga pants suit and Thai silk shirt. How to flaunt what they hadn't got in those women's faces… He growled again. Patricia, it won't be long before you find out _exactly_ what uses this man has… He saw her heading towards the door, minimised the camera window, feigned a look of embarrassment and buried his face in his study book as she emerged. She still managed to stare at his chest in the open neck of his shirt, and whisper "Good _night_, Renato," as she swept out.

Tony wondered whether or not to go in and speak to Seren, so he brought up the camera screen again to see if she'd finished helping her guest. He was glad he'd done so; there was movement on the upper landing. Cherie Braithwaite had come out of her room, and was slowly walking towards the stairs, with tears streaming down her face. At the top of the staircase she stopped, breathing hard, and clearly trying to force herself to go down; but after a few moments she shook her head, and fled back to her room.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

"So… I locked the front door and went to talk to Seren," Tony's voice came over the speakerphone. "We took the decision to talk to Cherie first, then tell you what we'd learned. We waited until all the women had gone to bed, then hid in Raggy's old room, where we wouldn't be heard. Once Cherie realised she wasn't alone, and we believed her, she told us what she knew"

He'd taken no pleasure in finding he'd been right about the threat. Cherie had been given the packet, containing three gold rings, each set with a ruby that looked pretty flawless to their untrained but appreciative eyes. She'd been told that if she wanted to be safe from her husband, she was to take a taxi to the central bus depot in DC, first thing in the morning, and board the first service of the day for Frederick. The driver would tell her where to get off, and give her further instructions.

"Would I be right in assuming that's Mickey's ride? That goes past Bethesda, where bodies turn up?"

"You would, Tony," Tim told him gleefully. "You should have seen Abby's face when we gave her a whole bus to play with."

"You impounded it? Won't that alert –"

"It sprung an oil leak, one of the cleaners noticed it" Gibbs explained innocently. "Mickey'll be given another bus tomorrow. We won't arrest him until we see who else turns up to see Cherie get on that bus."

Tony was silent for so long Tim moved to check the phone. "We can't do that, Boss," he said finally. "I can't let that poor girl and her kid get on that bus. She's in a state. She'd never be able to pull it off. She's had enough."

"Didn't say she'd be getting on it, DiNozzo."

Kath looked at Gibbs curiously. "You got something in mind, Jethro?"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Six-thirty am, barely daylight, and Mickey Gerrard regarded the vehicle that stood at the end of the rank with disfavour. "Great," he grumbled. "0414. Worst heap in the entire fleet. Couldn't they have found me something else? There was nothing wrong with my bus yesterday… I'm supposed to be grateful to the cleaners for noticing an oil leak?"

"0414's OK, Mick… you just have to drive her a little kindly is all. You'll get your bus back tomorrow." The other driver walked off whistling.

In the 24 hour diner across from the bus ranks, two men sat by the window, looking out with seeming boredom. A taxi pulled up, and a skinny young woman in a leopardskin print jacket stepped out. She wore big sunglasses in the weak early light, and had her collar turned up, and a beanie hat pulled down over her chestnut hair.

"There's Braithwaite," one man said. "Trying to look inconspicuous. How stupid is that?"

"More to the point, where's the kid?"

The first man dug out his phone. "Rennie? Clay. She's here… thought you said she has a kid?"

There was a muttered conversation, then, "Yeah. Patsy says the kid's got chickenpox… the people at the refuge are lookin' after her. Braithwaite spun some tale about her mother being ill, and they said she could stay with them. Just see she gets on that bus."

Clay looked at his partner. "Well, should be grateful I suppose… for once there's not a kid involved…" His companion shrugged indifferently.

The Frederick service pulled in, and stood idling, Mickey Gerrard hunched gloomily over the wheel. Cherie Braithwaite boarded, shoulders hunched, and looking miserable. Shortly afterwards a dark haired young woman appeared, slouching along with her hands deep in her coat pockets, and boarded the bus. She sat several rows behind the frightened, unwilling mule, and took out her phone. The watchers paid her no more attention, which was unfortunate for them, as they didn't see her taking a couple of quick photos of them.

Nobody else boarded, and at 6.45 the bus pulled out. At which point things went pearshaped. The girl in the leopardskin print had been told to sit on the right of the bus, where she could watch the driver, but the vehicle did a complete change of direction as it left the station, that put her on the side closest to the café. Clay leapt to his feet with an unprintable exclamation.

"That's not Braithwaite!"

"What d'you mean, not Braithwaite? You ever seen her? Leopardskin coat, we were told. That was her!"

"_That_ was Jeanette Cadogan… from Kate Wigg's team. Got promoted when I didn't, the cow. Come on…" They ran out of the diner, talking frantically on their phones as they headed for their car.

From the next bus stop, Tim and Oliver set out in pursuit, talking just as urgently on their own phones.

"Boss? They've made us somehow. I don't _know_! Warn Tony! I don't know where these two are going – gonna stop them and find out." They ran at an angle to intercept the car that was just beginning to pull away. Oliver shot out a tyre, as Tim simply aimed straight at the windscreen. It wasn't the first time he'd done this…. But this one he knew would stop… wouldn't it… it did. Oliver hauled open the driver's door.

"Lasz! What the hell are you doing? We're chasing a suspect! You can't –"

"Get out, Clay. We know what you're doing here. And who you're working for. You too, Jimmy." They disarmed and cuffed their prisoners quickly.

"Aaron Clay, James Thurlow, you're under arrest for theft, coercion, murder, endangerment of minors, trafficking in stolen goods, smuggling, conspiracy to just about everything, being bloody bad cops… you have the right to remain silent – I suggest you take it. At least until Kath gets you. Then, for your own sakes, I suggest you sing like little birds."

A squad car rolled out of the shadows right on cue, and two patrolmen who made it clear by their silence what they thought of bent colleagues, took the prisoners away. Tim was silent as they walked to their own car.

"What's up?" Oliver thought his ad hoc partner was worrying about his friend up in Chillum with no back-up.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. It was a respectful silence. That was the most beautiful, poetic arrest… I'm not sure when you breathed. I don't think I've ever enjoyed one quite so much." He paused and got serious. "Right, now we drive like hell to Valley House." His phone buzzed. "Gibbs?"

"Kath's at Metro co-ordinating, and waiting to grill the two lovelies you sent. Cadogan found both names as guys who tried to find Karen, by the way. She and Ziva are carrying on to the drop-off point, they've already arrested Mickey, and they're going on in hopes that whoever's supposed to be there hasn't been warned and done a runner. I'm on my way to the refuge, but it's taking time cuz I've still got the cab, and it's damn slow. Next time you can be the taxi driver."

"We're heading out there too, Boss. Did you manage to warn Tony?" Long pause. "Boss?"

"I warned him. I've sent local patrols ahead. What I _didn't_ do, McGee, is arrange more protection for our star witness, because I_ assumed_ she'd be safe at the refuge. They'll be after her. Just get there, McGee."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Metro PD kept an old yellow cab, because you never knew when you might need one. Jeanette had arrived in the middle of the night, changed into Cherie's clothes, and Gibbs had rolled up in the taxi at the appropriate time. Jeanette, clutching a bogus package, did an excellent thespian job of looking like a distraught and terrified mother leaving her child – never assume that there's nobody watching – and they drove away in the very early light of dawn. The three bishop's rings, five hundred years old and priceless, nestled in the refuge's safe.

Seren wasn't in the habit of abusing her position as a director, but just for once, she took the master key to the bedrooms, and went with Tony up to the top landing. She unlocked the door to Cherie's room silently, and they peered in. The young mother slept peacefully with her arms round her daughter. They smiled, closed the door just as silently, and left. The doctor let out a sigh of relief.

"That's it, then? There's enough evidence to get everyone?"

Tony smiled. "With those rings… missing from a museum in Croatia, Kath says… Cherie's testimony, Rrrrenato's, yours too… Abby rang, she's found traces of blood in the bus, so they've likely got Mickey, who sounds like he's the type to sing… yeah, it's good."

Seren sighed wearily, and he put his arms round her and held her against his chest for a moment. "Go get some rest, Doctor," he said. "You've earned it." She was just thinking that the big sofa in the common room sounded like a good idea, when Tony's phone squawked in his pocket. "Yeah, Boss… _What?_" He listened, with incredulity gradually being replaced by alarm. "Yeah. I get it. Gotta go!"

He put the phone away, and ran to the secure door. He opened it and regarded it thoughtfully. "It's tough, but it's not bullet proof." Seren looked at him, eyes wide and as incredulous as his had been a moment ago. "Gal, it's not over. Get all the ladies, and the children, onto the bottom landing, close the fire door and barricade yourselves in. Don't let anyone in here, in case this door gives way."

"I'll stay with you." 

"No. Look after them. Go on, go." He kissed her forehead, went out into the front room, and closed the door, intending to go straight to the coffee table and retrieve his Sig.

A voice said, "So, you're the famous Renato Pat's got the hots for." Rennie stood over by the stove. Course, she'd have told him the combination to the front door.

Tony indulged himself by saying something incredibly rude in Italian that he'd have blushed to even think in English.

"And she said you were shy."

Tony took a step towards him. "I'm not shy. And I'm not Italian. Well, I am, but not that Italian, if you see what I mean." Rennie stiffened. Element of surprise. Gotta love it. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. Senior Sergeant Matthew P. Rennie the Third, you're screwed."

It was only when he felt the sharp slash of fiery pain across his arm and shoulder, that he remembered how two men had died…

**AN: OK, I'm trying to race ahead and get to the end of this… got to go in hospital next week. Bit of a thing really, when you go in perfectly fit, and expect to come out a shambling octogenarian. Don't really know what to expect, so I don't know if I'll be writing again before January, but I promise to get this one done before I go! NOTHING KEEPS A SCOUSE DOWN!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: 81 reviews for 5 chapters is the highest number I've ever had. I'm thrilled, chuffed, and grateful!**

Raggy

Chapter 6

Tony jumped back, out of range of the long-bladed hunting knife in Rennie's right hand. Damn… he should have remembered those slash wounds… He drew his own knife; not the belt-buckle one, but the other one sheathed down his right thigh, inside the pocket of the scruffy cargos. Raggy had had a knife; it hadn't saved him… Positive thoughts, DiNozzo!

He crouched, mimicking Rennie's position, more from instinct than anything. He'd never trained as a street brawler with a blade… he knew how to throw one, but that was it. His opponent circled him warily, glaring and breathing hard, and lunged. Tony jumped, and the tip of Rennie's blade ripped his shirt and drew a thin red line across his ribs.

"Shit!" he said angrily, "I liked this shirt."

Rennie snarled, and slashed again and again, as Tony simply danced about trying to stay out of range while he worked out what to do. He bet Rennie hadn't been awake for 50 straight hours… He could feel the weight of the Glock against his calf, but it might as well have been back at home for all the chance he had of reaching it.

The Sergeant's arms were shorter than Tony's, but his knife, all ten wicked inches of it, put him at an advantage – that and the fact that he knew what he was doing. By the time a feint and a dodge to the side had allowed Tony to inflict a deep wound on the cop's left forearm, the agent was already bleeding from several slashes to both of his. He wasn't feeling the wounds, what a wonderful thing adrenalin was… but blood dripped onto the cheerful green rug, and just as Tony was thinking he couldn't spare much more of it, Rennie laughed, and lunged again.

The SFA deflected his first strike with the brace on his left wrist, and Rennie grunted as the blade jarred against the hidden metal splint. "Bastard Fed!"

Just Tony's luck that it hurt him too; between that and weariness he didn't move quickly enough to avoid a hard blow that started in the centre of his sternum, and dug its way diagonally up to his right shoulder. That one he sure _did _feel, and he knew he had to do something… and then it was his turn to laugh. As he'd told Ziva, all those weeks at Summer camp as a kid had to count for something. What had he just thought? What _did_ he know how to do with a knife? Why had it taken this long to work it out?

His opponent looked puzzled; how could the fed be _laughing_, when he'd just sliced his chest open? Tony jumped back, aware as he did so of a cold draught of early morning air behind him. Tired or not, he hadn't forgotten that the killer blow to both men had been from behind. First things first – he tossed his knife to change grip, then threw it hard and fast. Rennie howled in a very satisfying agony as it went straight through his foot, and his shoe, into the floor.

The air was still moving behind Tony, with a whiff of perfume on it, and he leaped sideways. As the Balenciaga pants suit stumbled past him, carried by the momentum of Patricia's failed strike, he helped her on her way with a boot to the seat of the elegant trousers. She landed on her backside beside the stove, her knife skittering away under a sofa, and Tony took out her still yelling boyfriend with a round-house punch to the jaw, which would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't been stuck to the floor. He folded untidily, taking an armchair with him, and the adrenalin deserted Tony immediately. He bent carefully to reach his back-up gun, but before his damaged body could complete the move, a new voice said "Forget the gun, Feebie!"

The SFA stood up, staggering slightly as he did so. "Feebie? Feebie! What is it with you guys? What do we have to _do_ to get recognition?" The new threats, there were two of them, were wearing Metro uniform, but that clearly didn't put them on the side of the angels. The speaker raised his gun higher, and Tony stood still, bracing his unsteady legs. Could he stall them until Gibbs arrived? Patricia knew the combination, he had to stop her and her cronies from going in there and harming witnesses. He'd promised Rod that he'd keep Seren safe… The woman stood up, brushing herself down, and regarding him with a stare that honestly made him want to hide behind the wardrobe, clutching henbane and garlic.

Her eyes devoured the sight of him, covered in blood, shirt cut to ribbons, long slashes showing through every hole in the destroyed fabric, and he tried not to believe what he was seeing. She was enjoying what she was looking at… it turned her on… why did he always get the crazy ones? She took one last long look at his heaving chest, and turned to the cop with the drawn gun. "Shoot him," she ordered, and the tip of her tongue ran over her lips.

The Uniform saw it and hesitated; and another woman's voice said, "No." Tony looked slowly towards the inner door, which had eased silently open, and through it all the refuge women were pouring into the room.

"You can't…" Tony managed to say, but the young woman who'd spoken, Rita, the mother of the helpful little boy from last evening, dragged her glance away from the state he was in, met his horrified glare, and said, "Yes, we can. You helped us… They can't shoot us all." She looked at the cop. "We're tired of being pushed round, and used… You hurt him, or one of us and the rest of us'll rip you apart."

The murmur from the rest of the women was chilling. Patricia snarled, "I said shoot him!"

There was a click. "If he does, Patricia," Seren Humphries said, "I'll shoot _you_ before I shoot him." She stood where she'd stolen in behind the other women, looking over the counter, with Tony's Sig covering both Uniforms. The cop sighed in resignation, gave up and holstered his weapon; he and his partner began to head for the front door. It was like reversing a film, Tony thought, the way they suddenly backed up… as another Sig and a Police Special came in through the front door, followed by McGee and Oliver Lasz.

Tim looked across at his SFA with that bleak, 'DiNozzo's done it again' sort of expression, muttered, "Tony…" reproachfully as the Italian smiled apologetically back without a grain of real remorse, and looked round. "Someone _help _him, then…" he barked, in a tone that made the slowly collapsing senior agent think _Gibbs…_ and took charge.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Quite what to make of it all, neighbours getting up to go to work must have struggled to work out.

Three police patrol cars, lights flashing. Several large muscle cars that screamed Police Unmarked Vehicle. A black Dodge Charger that screamed even louder, Fed! Two ambulances. A sapphire blue late reg Yukon Denali. An old yellow taxi – archetypal Crown Vic. An armoured vehicle from a security firm. And a forty foot metro bus, fleet number 0414. All cluttering up the small parking lot opposite the refuge, and overflowing into the road outside.

Inside, chaos was resolving into some sort of order.

First to arrive had been Roy Fordham; he and Kath had returned to MPD to co-ordinate the operation, and the detective had taken on the urgent and unpleasant task of finding out just who they could trust. He'd taken Jeanette's list of the officers who'd tried to track Karen Hartson down, and compared them with the names that had shown up on Dr. Humphries' log of patrols but not in the official police records. He'd found all three names on the first list there on the second as well, and had got himself the beginnings of a shiner while having the pleasure of arresting one of them right there in the Precinct, before he'd got the urgent call from Kath to go to Chillum.

Most of the women had gone back behind the secure door, to where Cherie and two other mothers were guarding the children behind their makeshift barricade. Many of the children had been frightened, which was hardly surprising, and they were being soothed and calmed; those youngsters who'd regarded it as a massive adventure were helping to dismantle the barrier, and mattresses and bedframes were being put back to their proper uses.

Oliver had two uniformed officers in cuffs, as well as a sullen, scary looking woman who Fordham realised must be Mickey Gerrard's wife. McGee was talking rapidly into his cell; he'd had no trouble calling up a security firm to take charge of the rings, but now his patient tone was slipping towards dangerous with a despatcher who couldn't seem to grasp that he could count, and when he requested two ambulances, that was what he meant.

"Y'only need one," a grouchy voice slurred from the sofa. "Cuz I'm not going." Fordham recognised DiNozzo's distinctive tones, but couldn't see past Dr. Humphries and a couple of other women.

McGee was unmoved. "Shut up, DiNozzo." He looked up at the detective's arrival. "Fordham! Glad to see you. There are more cops on the way – I need you to tell me if they can be trusted."

"Already done, McGee. I hear the girls have picked up the bus driver…"

"And the guy he was going to pass Ms Braithwaite on to… nobody had thought to warn him."

"Shame." Fordham touched his cheek and eyebrow gingerly. "I arrested one before Kath sent me out here. With the two you sent us, the two the ladies are bringing in, and these two lovelies;" he looked at the two cuffed patrolmen, "Hi, Lacey, Petrovsky… we'll soon have enough information to pick up the rest of them."

"Don't forget those two," Oliver said, jerking his thumb at the mad-eyed woman, and the man who lay out cold on his back, his foot still pinned to the floor.

"Rennie…" Fordham said wonderingly. "Did he…"

"Kill Sergeant Frandsen? And Hartson?" McGee's voice was like ice. "No… she did. He kept them occupied, hurt them… she stabbed them from behind. They tried to do the same thing to DiNozzo."

Fordham's face creased in alarm. He hadn't forgotten it was the Senior Field Agent's advice that had turned his relationship with his formidable boss round in less than forty-eight hours. "DiNozzo! Is he –"

"No, he's not, and he's not going to hospital, either," the irritated mumble came again from the sofa. Fordham stepped over the prone form of Sergeant Rennie, and Seren Humphries moved out of the way with an exasperated sigh. "That's what _he_ thinks," she huffed. "You try telling him."

Fordham looked down at the man sitting slumped against the end of the sofa. The ladies had removed what was left of the olive-green shirt, and had ripped up a couple of pillow shams to wipe the blood away and make bandages, but hadn't been able to apply any of the dressings yet; the patient wasn't co-operating. His torso looked like a road map, the deep gouge across the right side of his chest was still oozing sluggishly, but his jaw and green eyes were mulish. "Tony… you should –"

"Not yet." DiNozzo's tone was flat. Tim looked across and blinked. A moment or two ago it had been 'not at all'. "There are still things to do. Where's Gibbs?"

A car screeched to a halt outside, but it wasn't a yellow cab. Seren glanced out at the big blue Denali, and said, "Rod." Tony tried to stand up, but she pushed him back down. "Sssh. It's pretty obvious that you kept me safe."

"I kept _you…_?" Tony closed his mouth with an audible snap.

Any remonstrating Rod might have wanted to do never had a chance, as the next person to sweep in was Kath, only moments later. "Well, I see you have it all under control, Renato…" she said, pursing her lips as she took in his condition. Tony said exactly what he thought of that, praying that Kath didn't understand Italian. He was pretty sure she got the gist, though. After picking up explanations of the situation from different people, she opened her phone and began talking to Gibbs.

The tiny element of farce that had started to creep in suddenly got bigger, as three patrol cars arrived at once, from three different directions, and found themselves having to manoeuvre round a Metro bus that wanted to take up the whole road outside. Ziva and Jeanette shoved a very subdued Mickey Gerrard into the room ahead of them. They were both grinning broadly.

"It seemed like a good idea to come here," Ziva said cheerfully, but her voice tailed off as she saw her partner. She turned to the newly arrived patrol officers, and shoved Gerrard towards them. "Make him move the bus," she hissed. "We need the space for the ambulance." Gerrard went more than willingly; he couldn't wait to get out of the same room as his wife.

Tim went over to Tony, who was lying back against the sofa by now, eyes half closed, letting Seren and the other women do as they wished without protest. "I know…" he began slowly, "There's still Corporal Borlovsky, and the other non-police perps to trace. I know they're looking for the missing women and children all over the country… I know we want to find out exactly why Hartson died… but you didn't mean any of those things, did you?" Tony opened his eyes wider, and just looked at the younger agent speculatively. "Ah…" Tim said. "Karen. We still haven't found Karen."

"No… where's Gibbs?"

He came five minutes later, on the heels of the Paramedics, who set about unsticking Matthew Rennie's foot from the floor. He stood where Fordham, then Kath, then Tim had stood, looking down at his Senior Field Agent.

"Enough, already," Tony grumbled. "I'm not a sideshow freak. Stop gawping…"

Kath moved to order the patrolmen to take the prisoners, but Tony called, "No, wait, Kath… just keep _her _a minute." He looked at Gibbs. "Frandsen never killed anyone, Boss. Tell them, Patricia."

The woman heard the steel, and the threat in his tone, and looked at him wide eyed. She'd already worked out that he wasn't who she'd thought, but what had replaced the shy, embarrassed Renato was frightening. "Tell them..w-what?"

"Why did Hartson die?"

Her face twisted in derision. "He was a fool. He drove his wife away with violence, and then spent his time bleating that he wanted her back. He hung round the shelter, although I told him she'd never damn been here and to stop drawing attention to the place. He was a liability. But he'd still be alive if he hadn't fought Matt about it. Frandsen never touched him."

Tony looked at his Boss until the other man felt the intensity of his gaze and looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow. _'OK, then?' 'Yeah… yeah, I reckon.'_

"So why did Frandsen die?"

She shrugged. "Matt was giving a carrier instructions. I found him listening. Until then I thought he was just Raggy." They all regarded her speechlessly. Tony was aware of Rita, at his side, standing frozen in disgust. Rod reached for Seren's hand and squeezed it.

"And the carrier?" Gibbs asked. "The latest young woman to disappear? Her _child_?" Patricia shrugged in absolute indifference. Kath nodded to the patrolman, who took her away.

Silence hung in the air for a while, only broken by the sound of a bus engine starting up; Metro had sent a relief driver to collect 0414, and she trundled cheerfully away.

Gibbs looked at the two EMTs who were waiting patiently to get their hands on Tony. "Borlovsky's being interviewed via MTAC by the Director himself as we speak," he said. "So… Karen?"

"Karen's safe, Boss."

"And you know this how, DiNozzo?"

Tony looked at Rita, and knew he was right. "You took a risk coming here, gal."

Karen was unfazed."Not really. If I thought there was the slightest risk to my children, I wouldn't have come. How'd you know?"

"No recent bruises… The way you looked every time Raggy's name was mentioned… Richie mentioned he had a sister. He called her Bitty, sort of nickname a five year old might come up with if he couldn't quite manage Birgita. He said she was asleep, although she was older than him, he liked to stay up later. He said he liked the house he'd been living in better than here… didn't know why you'd come. And you didn't, until after Raggy died."

"Rita," Tim said softly. "Ritte."

Karen nodded; she managed a watery smile and wiped tears away. "We left Richard," she said softly. "It wasn't the occasional punch – I was good at dodging, and I always stood up to him anyway… living with him was just strangling the life and soul out of me. I covered our tracks, he never found us. We were out in Idaho, I supported us through writing… then Nils Ragnar came back. Millie knew where we were – I'm sorry, I made her swear not to tell anyone, and when we thought Raggy could be suspected of murder, that was even more important. I knew he hadn't killed Richard."

"Did you ever see your brother?" Tony asked gently.

"Once. I told him I knew it wasn't him. He told me he'd found this place after my letter, and he was gathering evidence. He said it sometimes got him into trouble, but he knew how to fight… I'm so glad I saw him. I didn't know that'd be the last time…" She stifled a sob. "When Millie told me he'd been killed, I knew it was time to come here myself." She looked at Seren. "I'm sorry… I knew you didn't have anything to do with it… I should have been honest with you…"

Seren managed a wan smile. "This place was being used," she said quietly. "All the good we've been trying to do was being corrupted, now it's safe again." She looked round. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you all." Her gaze stayed longest on Tony and his makeshift bandages. "Thank you, Tony," she almost whispered.

His weary eyes still danced at her. "Prego, bellissima," he said blithely.

Gibbs growled. "Stop milking it, DiNozzo." He took pity on the hovering EMTs, rose to his feet, and jerked his head in their direction. "_Andiamo!_"

**AN: As seen in all good spaghetti westerns – 'let's go!' **

**Hope you've enjoyed it, I'll be writing again just as soon as I can sit at a computer. (They won't let me take a laptop into hospital – sob!)**


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